


Syntropy

by huurrehenki



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Gen, POV Second Person, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huurrehenki/pseuds/huurrehenki
Summary: Of course, you have known for a long time that you are… wrong. That was always the case given your background, but this is something that has haunted you differently since Heartbreak. You were never sure you escaped that building with your mind intact.Now you know. (you never had a chance)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Syntropy

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote during NaNoWriMo when I realized exactly how messed up my MC is. There is one scene in the FH Retribution alpha that made me look at the guy and go "wow, is there anything to even salvage anymore?" So… yeah. Exploring that here. 
> 
> Heed the tags, this isn't a happy piece.

The Catastrofiend is on the loose again and it's your fault.

It's quiet in the bathroom, or it would be if your breathing wasn't so ragged and harsh. The auction, or rather what happened after it, haunts you still.

That's fair, though. You probably shouldn't be at ease with having unleashed a horror like the Catastrofiend upon the world.

You want to scrub at your face. You connected with that thing's mind in order to turn it away, but while that worked, you haven't felt right since. You always knew it was wrong somehow and it terrified you. Now you know you were right to be afraid.

But is it just the Catastrofiend that you are afraid of this time?

You can't help the shakes so you wind your arms around yourself and try to resist the urge to rock your own body as if that could soothe the unease you feel. ( _nothing ever could_ )

You brushed against the Catastrofiend's mind. You had always thought that kind of recklessness would end with you dead in short order. But instead...

The thing about the Catastrofiend is that it is a fire. A blaze. Every fire needs fuel to burn, and that's what you would have been to it, just like all its other victims.

But you were useless for that.

There is nothing in you that could burn anymore. You were charred to the bone a long time ago, and the Catastrofiend recognized that. You felt seen when it touched your mind. Touched, probed, acknowledged, and then discarded as irrelevant. 

Why break and destroy something that is already beyond repair, after all?

Unfortunately, you're left to deal with the emotional residue of that meeting of minds. You were aware that you haven't been doing well – as if everyone couldn't see that as it is – but that opened your eyes further.

Of course, you have known for a long time that you are... wrong. That was always the case given your background, but this is something that has haunted you differently since Heartbreak. You were never sure you escaped that building with your mind intact.

Now you know. ( _you never had a chance_ )

The scars from that incident will haunt you to your grave. There is nothing left of you but a shell. Nothing left of who you pretended so desperately to be. There is no hero here, not even in memories. ( _what is a memory_ ) Sidestep is dead and you... you are just a pretender, a pale wraith come back from the grave only to wreak vengeance on this unjust system.

You were broken long before you turned the gun on yourself, before you went through the window, before you ever hit the asphalt and shattered too many bones, and it hasn't gotten better since. Did you even survive? Did you survive it alone, or is there someone... something else lurking in your thoughts?

And if there is... which one of you is the right one? The real one?

You have avoided looking in the mirror so far, but you do look up now, to meet the scowling gaze of... who exactly? You? Someone else? 

( _it makes no difference_ )

You look at yourself and fight the urge to snarl and break the mirror. The only reason you can hold back is that breaking a mirror works against its intended purpose: you'll only end up with ever more shards, each reflecting the wreck you are from slightly different angles until you clean the pieces away.

You would know.

You've never liked looking at yourself, either your body or your face, but you force yourself to do so now. To take in the reflection of what the world sees when you are too drained to turn their gazes away.

Tired, washed-out pale gray eyes with the undeniable evidence of insomnia bruising the skin under them. Blazing orange hair, not quite the same shade as your tattoos but close enough, that's why you settled for that particular dye. Earrings with chains tangling with each other, reminiscent of the ones you feel are still fettered around your wrists and ankles. A still-too-feminine face with a myriad reminders of the lacerations from when you went through the window.

Honestly, you're such a mess, slicing your face open anew wouldn't even make anything worse.

The mirror image facing you feels... distant. Wrong. Like it isn't a reflection but something else altogether. Does it even blink at the same time as you? Does it smile when you do?

No... that isn't the right question, is it? The right question is: do _you_ smile when it does? 

( _one and the same_ )

There it is again, that rictus grin in the mirror, more like something you would expect to see on a corpse than a living being – however loose that definition might be in your case – but you are sure there isn't one on your lips. The eyes, too, look wr—

The punch you throw comes as a complete surprise to you. It's not something you initiated, suddenly there just are mirror shards everywhere and blood on your knuckles and a sweet, familiar pain making your hand throb.

It helps to clear your head a little. The spell is broken again. (There is a familiarity there. A protective one for once. The Rat-King?) Whatever the cause, it's only a temporary remedy. These bouts keep happening more and more often, encroaching on your consciousness ( _not yours_ ), but you'll take it.

You just need to keep yourself together long enough to get the heroes ready to start a revolution, after that you can lose it. Your mind. Your self. Whatever you are. Provided you're still alive at that point, of course. ( _unlikely_ )

You sigh and close your eyes, as much to center yourself as to block out the sight you were hoping to avoid. One mirror you can tolerate, dozens of shards not so much. They make it uncomfortably real that you are... not. 

Still, there is one thing that helps. 

You still bleed. You still feel physical pain.

You grope for the shards and grab one of them before you open your eyes and look at it. There is some blood on it already from your knuckles and fingertips. You smile at the reflection and this time the smile is affectionate. Real. Maybe a little sad. Entirely yours at any rate. 

That’s all that matters at this point.

It's idiotic to fall back into a habit like this, you know it. There are too many risks associated with it, but right now they're secondary. The risk of infection, or of freaking Ortega out badly enough that he'll never leave you alone anymore, hardly matters when you're unraveling like this. If this helps you keep whatever shred of sanity you have left, it's the better choice.

The only choice.

So you turn the shard upon your hated flesh ( _length-wise_ ) – no, not length-wise, not yet. Across. That will do for now. That’s the deal you made with yourself.

With the first cut, the unease in you settles and the tension in your shoulders unspools. This isn’t wise, but it’s necessary. The pressure in your skull seems to abate a little too. 

Finally, as you look at the blood that wells up, you can breathe easily once more. It’s just one of those days you have to endure. You’ll get through it. You always have. 

You may not know who or what you are these days, but you still have enough control to say the words that matter: _not today_.


End file.
